


What To Get The Man Who Has Everything

by ScarlettsLetters



Series: A Tale of Two Soldiers [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Steve Rogers, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Come Marking, Cunnilingus, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub Undertones, Erotic Electrostimulation, Established Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, F/M, Gags, Handcuffs, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Prostate Milking, Sex Toys, Spreader Bars, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Steve Rogers's Birthday, Stucky - Freeform, Top Thor (Marvel), Wax Play, top wanda maximoff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-05 20:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettsLetters/pseuds/ScarlettsLetters
Summary: Steve hoped no one would make a fuss about his one hundredth birthday. Bucky was never going to let that happen. He makes plans to ensure Steve celebrates his centennial in style, surrounded by his best friends and lover, shaking and coming from one orgasm after another.





	1. Surprise Party

**Author's Note:**

> Let's celebrate Steve's hundredth birthday with delicious, wanton fun. Bucky arranges to leave his lover hot and bothered, then sends out Tony to make Steve an offer he can't refuse. 
> 
> I absolutely love feedback, so feel free to tag a comment. <3

The calendar marks Independence Day like any other holiday, neat black letters on a white backdrop, nothing special. More than anything, Steve treats the day like any other day. He stands in the kitchen slicing up strawberries on the cutting board, their bright juices puddling in rich ruby stains. A pile of hulls rests in a glass bowl next to another dish of torn angel food cake.

He hears footsteps behind him in the spacious kitchen of the Tower, that sacred space that brings together the team more often than their missions. Dawn barely breaks above the horizon. His teammates rarely wake so early and they invariably shamble for the coffeemaker.

“This one, I'll concede you are a saint.” Tony nudges Steve on the shoulder as he slips past.

Of all the people he expected, Tony isn't it. Steve stops cutting, laying the knife aside and scooping up the sliced berries. “Just getting in?”

“Can't a guy get an early start without being grilled? I plead the fifth.“ A dark glint of mirth crackles in Tony's dark eyes as he reaches for the glass carafe. He nudges open the cabinet door and takes a mug from the shelf, one marked by Cap's shield wielded by an adorable corgi in costume. Steve winces when he sees it. Probably something of Natasha's or Clint's.

“That's not really how you are supposed to invoke the Constitution or the Bill of Rights,” Steve says. Another pint of strawberries wait for his attentions, and he picks out two, resuming chopping. “Besides, it's a national holiday.”   
  
“Well,  _ some  _ of us have things to do today.” 

The sly tone from Stark is too much of a tip-off something is up, though Steve isn't fully sure what that something may be. He offers a smile and shakes his head.

Tony puts the carafe back and swills the piping hot coffee as though the temperature were forty degrees cooler. His mouth puckers and then spreads into a smirk, the curled corner a bit too much like the Cheshire Cat. “Look who made the century mark.”

So it begins. Steve hoped no one would bother him today, focusing instead on the fireworks show in the harbour or a dozen celebrations around New York. He mentally adds a tally, first of what he expects to be many. “Thank you, Tony.”

“So what are your plans? Slipping away on that beast of a bike so no one can find you at cake cutting time?” Tony sips his coffee, black and molten, exactly the way he prefers it. “Hiding out at the Met this time?”

“Tony…”

“Walking around Brooklyn, seeing the old sites?”   
  
In fact, that is his exact plan, requiring an immediate recalculation given Tony either sussed out his purpose or stumbled on it by chance. Given the source, he can't be comfortably sure about either possibility. Tony complicates events, adding a brand of mischief and luxury alien to a man out of the Forties. Nothing goes simply around him, and more than anything, he wants a shade of normalcy. Haunting the familiar backroads of Brooklyn promised little chance of anyone accosting him with a slice of birthday cake or their cell phone, begging for a selfie.

Steve gamely slices up the strawberries into even thickness, watching the heart-shaped fruits spread out like confetti along the top of the chopping board. Dark juices drip off the knife in a garish fashion. “I haven't totally decided.”

“Sure you haven't.” Tony steals one of the slices and pops it into his mouth, taking obvious pleasure in the theft or the luscious sweetness of the berry. Red juice stains his mouth in the most fetching way that highlights how ripe his lips are. “Or Coney Island, maybe. Though I'll warn you there's not much left of the old girl the way you know her.”

Isn't that the truth about most of the city? And his country, for that fact. Plenty of aspects of New York look similar from afar, but change drastically when Steve gets up close. He keeps a little black notebook to track down landmarks and favourite things from his old life, and too often he finds them unrecognizable. Today is the sort of day to go hunting down hints of the old, and try out the new. Seems appropriate on the nation's birthday.

He smiles and ignores the anticipatory flutter in his belly. “I appreciate the warning. What about you? Pepper have you running around picking up steaks and ground hamburger?”   
  
Tony chokes on his coffee. “Shopping? I have apps to order food for me, Steve. Put me in a supermarket and I might never find my way out.”   


“You can't tell me you've never been in a grocery store.”

“Maybe that one time I got lost in Ohio. It was like another universe out there, Nega Ohio. I called Happy to send a helicopter to rescue me.”

Steve stifles a laugh. “You can't be serious.” He dumps the next handful of strawberries atop the growing mound. “What are your plans today?”

“You.”

One word and he halts in front of the sink, his hand frozen halfway to turning on the faucet. Tony's devilish mind holds no end to fascinating and devious offshoots of a birthday celebration. Steve remembers the stories from Sam and Rhodey -- whatever they  _ remember  _ of the nights, anyway. Excessive displays are the name of the game. Not his style, but Stark has an unnerving way of adapting his plans to his target. And Steve realizes he very much fits the description of target.

Well, fudge.

A thrill shoots along his spine and detonates in an electric crackle of anticipation somewhere around his belly. His mind supplies him at least ten different variations on good birthday surprises, a hint his libido remains an active participant in his imagination. Clearly his morning run failed to quell that precise issue. It hasn't been  _ that  _ long since he last enjoyed himself. Bucky and he simply can't find much time alone with their disparate schedules.

Tony waits and smiles.

Undoubtedly Tony, with all his technological acumen, can pull records for exits and entries, doing the math. No, he'd never… Steve stops right there on that thought. Yes, Tony absolutely  _ would  _ monitor such things and cross boundaries for inappropriate purposes. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing.

“I don't need anything special, Stark. Rather keep it simple.”

Tony's eyes lock onto his throat and never stray past his jaw, measuring the hammering pulse. With those aviator glasses, he just might be able to measure the sharp uptick in Steve's endorphin load.

The cool water sluicing over his hands does nothing to quell the flutter in his stomach. Spreading heat spills lower as he tries to concentrate on the liquid racing across his palms, stained a faint pink from the fruit.

“You never give anyone a chance to show how much they care,” Tony says. He drains the last of the coffee and plunks the mug in the sink, using the excuse to press against the larger blond's side. “Some nicer people wouldn't think to push the matter, but I will.”

“Tony.” His voice comes out more strangled than intended. Steve scrubs at the strawberry stain on his thumb, and jolts when Tony grabs his wrist, pulling it slick and glistening from the water.    
  
“You can go scope out Brooklyn later. Our birthday present won't take up the entire day.”

That rings alarm bells. “Our?” Steve says.

“Yeah, we pitched in to give you a gift. Turning one hundred is something special. You get a card from the Queen yet?” Tony asks.

Steve shakes his head. “I thought that was only for British subjects. But I don't need anything fancy,” he says, and his statement ends in a gasp.

“That's why I wanted to catch you in early. It'll stay private.” Tony smirks as he lowers his head, settling his lips lightly against the curve of Steve's wrist. The feathery tease of his goatee brushes against the bared skin, dusting over the stiffened tendons as Steve flexes his fist.

The soft brush of a kiss becomes a wet press of Tony's tongue, a lick that travels over the great vein from his wrist halfway to his elbow. He groans at the back of his throat, a sound he won't permit to escape from his throat. Pride goeth before a fall, and his lover has to earn the smallest moan from him.

Tony's bite to his hard inner arm tests that resolve. Teeth press deep into his skin without breaking the surface, leaving a fresh crescent mark mirrored against his tanned skin. Swiping his tongue over the divots, Tony moves two inches lower and suckle hard and hot on Steve's arm.

He could pull his arm back, but the mark sends a dark, delirious thrill through him. Marks of ownership and desire do terrible things, and Steve feels the tight stirring behind his fly, the tailored fit of his jeans tormenting in the worst way. As Tony sucks, his hips rock slightly back and forth, only encouraging harder, passionate suckling.

Who the hell told Tony about his weakness for marking? He can only guess one person -- Bucky. Which means Bucky had a hand in this, and the jittery unease at the intimate sampling slips back a few notches.

A rumbling purr follows his shoulders easing and the tension in his arm settling. Tony nibbles up to his elbow and applies another bite right in the hinge, pushing Steve at the small of the back. “C'mon. Everything is ready for you.”   
  
Steve never stumbles, though the kisses and bites to his arm leave him a bit lightheaded, hot for more. He allows Tony to guide him out of the kitchen into the hallway.

“We wouldn't want to spoil the surprise,” Tony says, pulling out a plain blindfold from his pocket. Seeing Steve's expression, he adds, “A good boy scout always comes prepared.”   
  
“Since when were you a boy scout?”   
  
“My mom had me try once when I was eight. Thought it would be good for me.” Tony reaches up to slip the blindfold over Steve's head and helps straighten it out. The world falls into absolute darkness behind navy satin, and the adjustable elastic strap fits snugly behind his ears. “It was a complete disaster. Now this kind of boy scouting, I can do.”

Steve makes a noncommittal murmur to stifle the chuckle that might leave the wrong impression.

He isn't prepared for the hot kiss suddenly pressed to his lips. His mouth parts in surprise, and that gives Tony all the liberty he needs to slip his tongue between Steve's parted teeth. Hands grip his head and pull him forward, evening out their height, and he stands as indomitable as a mountain, a mountain standing on a pool of bubbling magma.

Kissing Tony differs so much from Bucky. The goatee, for one, teases his skin. Tony's mouth is thinner, harder, and coaxes him to soften the kiss. He's plundered rather than deeply explored, their tongues dueling in a war for dominance of his mouth.

When the kiss stops, Tony tugs him. “Present number one,” he says, hoarse and smug.

“For some reason, I imagine that's from Buck too.”

“Believe it,” Tony says, and they resume their walk. It's much harder to keep a straight path with his cock stiffening in his jeans and the world dark. Tony's talented fingers keep straying over his crotch, admiring the impressive length of the shaft tucked down his pant leg.

They halt now and then to resume the kiss, Tony shoving Steve against the wall. More confident, he returns the kiss in kind. Small bites leave his lip swelling, stung by the imprint of those hard, demanding teeth. Tony presses himself against Steve's body, and his stiff cock stands out through his trousers to grind against the seam of Steve’s jeans.

The one time Steve reaches out to find Tony by touch, a swat drives his hand back. “Don't spoil the surprise.”

Chastised, the blond bites at Tony's tongue and twists his head away, breaking their kiss. Both of them pant, and the silky darkness wrapped around him doesn't stop him from feeling the way Tony trembles or grabs his wrist tighter than a steel handcuff. The need cuts both ways. His body  _ thoroughly  _ agrees with this unexpected turn of events.

Suddenly everything slots into place. Bucky's jacked up schedules, the lonely nights over the past fortnight, the missions and work giving them no privacy. Hell, that sly bastard has been keeping Steve on his toes, pent up and repressed until he smolders, and ready to go at the kiss.

“You devious little devil,” he mutters and Tony laughs. 

Ten minutes later, that's how he ends up naked in the penthouse loft of the Tower. 


	2. Tony's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's gift for Steve turns out to be a bit on that tight side.

Blindfolds leave something to be desired, Steve decides, as he reclines on the bed. Tension returns and dials down his simmering lust as he waits on the bed. Tony guided him to lie back when they entered the room, but after a reasonable length of time and two unanswered calls, he sits up.

Nothing stops him from stripping off the blindfold except a sense of honor that forbids him from breaking the rules. Tony failed to clarify when he could remove the blindfold, so it remains snugly settled over his eyes and the bridge of his nose in a wash of navy satin. The elastic strap stretches around his head, settled rather comfortably.

He would rather return to his strawberry angel food cake. After Tony asked to present his birthday present, he all but gave his word to stay put. Next time, he needs to put a time limit on his compliance. At this rate, the whole team might be piling in any second with a sheet cake and a rousing chorus of _Happy Birthday_.

He sighs.

The floorboard creaks and puts Steve instantly on alert. His head turns a degree in the direction of the sound, slow and controlled, the better not to indicate the shift in his attention. His hands rest above his knees. Adrenaline surges in his veins and he cups his knees harder so his shaking hands don't betray him.

Tracking someone blindfolded takes a combination of intuition, luck, and attention. His hand shoots out at the last second, and finds a broad sweep cool metal right as fingers close around his wrist. For a moment he vies with the unknown assailant, his muscles bunching, prepared for a fight.

Hair brushes over his shoulder in an indescribably soft cascading sound. He breathes in the familiar metal oil, sandalwood, African resins, and bay rum soap. Struggles slow and he allows his arm to drop to his side. A kiss at the hollow of his ear, reward for complying with unspoken commands. “Sit still. You're safe.”

Bucky's whisper cools the wet lick applied to Steve's hot skin, and he instinctively shudders, his shoulder starting to lift. “Got it, Buck.”

Teeth catch the lobe of his ear. He has no resistance to hot suckling consuming that soft scrap past blunt teeth, and Bucky devours him in a clear rush. The blunt point of a warm tongue tracing the shell of his ear leaves him panting, revved from an idle to 200 miles an hour in a few seconds. Bucky damn well knows what suckling and lapping his ear does, throwing his libido into redlined overdrive.

His cock stirs hard again in a heartbeat and pressed against his pant leg. The jeans stretch over the long lump, and he clenches his fists rather than touch. Kisses grow longer and lascivious against his ear, Bucky's tongue curling into every nook and cranny. The temperature of his blood shoots up as every dab erodes his resistance.

Bucky pulls away for a moment. So this is heaven, sharp and intense. Steve’s head reels and he grits his teeth, his jaw flexing. Admonishing fingers dash down his lower lip, tugging it out.

“Now, now. Don't be cranky that I stopped.” Bucky sounds so damn smug. He has every right, bringing Steve to the boiling point.  
  
“Shoulda known you were feeling patient. You've been keeping me on the edge long enough,” Steve says.

A pleased chuckle marks his throat, another bite sinking in there. “You clued into that, huh?”

“Two weeks?”

“C'mon, you can't complain too loudly. I'm here now, aren't I?”  
  
Perhaps Bucky’s presence explains the silence in the room. Steve almost breaks his resolve to push the blindfold up over his nose, and he thinks the better of that. Instead, he earns rough stroking to his shaft through his jeans by Bucky's warm hand. The other still pins his arm to his side, pushing him onto his side. He willingly falls onto the bed, and hears something up near the pillows bump on the headboard.

Just floating there in the bliss of denied physical contact never really much occurred to him before. Steve prefers to be more hands on, sliding his fingers through the tangle of Bucky's lustrous, dark hair and marveling at the smooth silk of his pale skin when his lover thrusts. He'll settle for this much, kisses and bites alternated along his nape.

“You look especially delicious today.” Bucky purrs in his ear. “I'll reward you handsomely for being good and going along with your birthday gift.”  
  
Going along? That sounds like an outing. Steve is in no condition to walk, at least not far. The brassy zipper in his jeans strains to hold both sides of his jeans shut. When Erskine made him into Captain America, everything grew commensurately. Levi's doesn't make jeans large enough for him. Not when his fat cock wants to point out in front of him.

“I'd be glad for a present from you. Don't need all this fuss.”

“Bad boy.” Bucky's hand grips his buttock and squeezes hard enough to bring tears to Steve's eyes, though the black satin darkness enfolding him prevents it from being seen. Wincing at the force, he expels his breath in a hissing noise. “You get five spanks for that.”

“Aren't I bit old for spankings, Buck?”  
  
“Don't sound so shocked. You're only a hundred, and still a year younger than me. So birthday spankings it is.”  
  
The iron tone in Bucky's voice has him confounded and hard, so very fucking hard, that his pants hurt him. Teeth of the zipper press against his shaft and his balls. He tries to shift a little in hopes of relieving the strain, but the hand sliding between his legs destroys all hopes of that.

He reaches to grab the hand without thinking, both his hands gripping Bucky's wrist. Bad move.

“Now,” Bucky says, and not to him. If not him, then who?

Metal slips around Steve's wrists, and he fights against the strong grip holding him down. Bucky shifts to pin Steve down, legs wrapped around his, weight resting on his hip. Wrestling from the prone spoon position gives Steve an excellent awareness of the stiffness prodding his buttock, and his cock bucks inside his jeans in response.

“You want this.” He groans softly as a reassuring _mmhmm_ purrs in his ear, and the heavy bands snap around his wrists to shut them. Bucky's flesh hand releases his arm.

Steve pulls on the toy bindings hard enough to test their strength. Any cheap chain won't stand up to him and the links ought to be spitting by now, but they don't. He hears no signs of tearing, just the steady and obvious weight.

A little harder tug translates into no noticeable change. He clenches and unclenches his fists. “You cuffed me.” Not a question.

“Stark cuffed you,” Bucky corrects him, and pinches his nipple through his t-shirt. “This has to go.”

The pattern comes into focus, the way those sensual touches awaken his arousal to the boiling point. He can think straight, mostly, but the pleasure consumes him from the hands stroking his sheathed cock and pinching on his nipples, pulling the nubs out and twisting harshly.

“Tony.” The name escapes in a growl.

Fingers curl in his hair, abandoning his beleaguered left nipple. His hair has grown longer, a good handhold for Bucky, who pulls his head back to bare his throat. “You _will_ be good, Steve.”

His wrists rub together inside the padded cuffs and he wonders at their solidity and weight. Clearly some kind of contraption developed by Stark for someone of his strength, which implies that Bucky had something to do with their design.

His tense body jitters in anticipation and those blindingly talented fingers keep strumming his nipples until they plump out, fat and eager under his shirt. He rocks his hips softly and the appreciative fingers stroke him until a wet spot appears on the front of his jeans.

Their tangled breathing melts together, interrupted by the odd creak of the bed and finally the hiss of metal teeth. His zipper practically tears apart when the tag overcomes the first bit of resistance, and he grinds his teeth as his cock practically makes a prison break.

“Oh, this is huge,” Tony murmurs, a sense of genuine awe usually reserved for alien technology alloying his response.

“Mmhmm,” Bucky says.

Steve tries to raise his clamped wrists to defend his chest from those cruel fingers, but Bucky's metal arm bars him from getting any further. Teeth sink into Steve's shoulder, convincing him to go still.

Ripping his pants from his hips takes Tony some effort, but coordinated effort frees his legs to the air conditioned room. Steve helps kick off the jeans, glad for the freedom of movement. His leg keeps brushing up against Tony's t-shirt and the cool covers on the bed, but not for long as Bucky rolls him onto his back.

“What are you doing?” he whispers. Any louder somehow feels rude, and Steve dare not break the connection with the hot breath infusing his shirt and the kisses marring his neck. He's going to have a necklace of blotches for the next half hour, he just knows it, and he wants that more than stroking his eager, hard cock.

“Destroying your underwear,” Tony says, answering for Bucky. Something cold slides along Steve's thigh and the briefs snap apart, leaving him utterly exposed.

A low whistle of appreciation follows. “Fuck, that's a good wax job.”

“The serum leaves us hairless down there.” Bucky breaks off his mauling of Steve's shoulder like a Soviet vampire to answer and rake his nails over the blood-engorged tips of Steve's nipples.

Steve really would like the blindfold off by yesterday, but he struggles to keep himself still and steady. A warm kiss under his ear turns into a humming note that stirs him to the core.

“If a hum at his pulse point makes him leak, how is he going to ever take his toy?” Tony asks lightly.

 _Toy?_ The shock ripples through Steve and no doubt they watch his body trying to curl in on itself protectively, his defined abs clenching and hard.

But Steve doesn't get to contract into the fetal position because Bucky lies under him, those powerful legs insinuated over his hips and locking his thighs open. The pleasurable slip of Bucky's muscular calves stuns him enough for Tony to strike a second time, moving like clockwork to signals Steve can neither see nor interpret.

If not for the rock hard cock grinding into the dimple of his back, he would be fighting harder.

Instead, something cold snaps onto his ankle. He shakes his leg, and that does nothing at all because the powerful magnets -- they feel like magnets -- snap towards something else on the bed. His leg drags across the edge to the post, and he is incredibly exposed on one side when the ankle band snaps into place.

Part of him fears. The greater portion crackles with deep, searing arousal. He still fights, and Bucky strokes his chest, biting his neck. “That's it. See how helpless you are.”

Even one-legged, the blond can do real damage, but he isn't sure what to expect when something soft and light unrolls over his ankle and up his knee. Stark uses his entire weight to keep Steve from kicking him, and whatever he holds befuddles Steve's ability to identify it.

“Stop fighting, dammit,” Tony snaps when he takes a knee to the ribs.

Steve almost feels bad. Almost.

Bucky spanks his nipples in retaliation for his bad behaviour, counting for each stroke. Five stinging slaps from his hand leave his chest -- and especially his targeted nubs -- smarting in the worst and best way, until he stills. And something tight rests over his knee.

The quelled movement allows Tony to snap the second ankle cuff on, and the first magnets disengage while he leans over the end of the bed. Unseen force releases Steve's leg, and he pulls it closer to the middle of the bed without complaint. But before he can assume a natural position, the other magnet spins up and his opposite leg spreads open. He just can't win.

“Other side now. I'm going to work quick, but don't smack me or there will be hell to pay.”

Bucky's growl holds a dark warning. “Stark.”

“I like my ribs where they are.”

Steve silently shakes his head, bemused by his predicament. He doesn't quite know what the hell is going on except that something else slides up his leg and it feels an awful lot like a cord. Too thin to really be sufficiently useful binding him, by his reckoning, and he wiggles where the edge itches at his skin.

In a heartbeat, Bucky thrusts up make him lift his hips. He obliges, and Tony yanks the snug cord in place. It splits between his buttocks and widens out in his peri area. Certainly nothing holds his cock, but forces his balls tight to his body and points his cock up his belly.

His cheeks flame.

“Underwear?” He might well be speaking to a stone wall.

Bucky slithers out from under him and leaves Steve lying flat, blushing hot and uncertain how he wants to proceed. Not like the cuffs give him much choice. But the bruising kiss on his lips forces his mouth open for a twining of tongues, and soon he groans into Bucky's demanding, forceful kiss.

He twitches and shakes when the t-shirt is torn off him, no scissors needed. Tony and Bucky both flank him, ripping the shirt in opposite directions, leaving his bare chest exposed to their willful creations.

As long as he gets to continue that kiss, Steve decides to play along. The bed is soft under his back, a pillow supportive under his head. Bucky and Tony flank him. He feels his legs freed up from the magnets, but not the cuffs, and his puzzled understanding of their gestures turns into alarm when he feels hands pushing his feet into the air. They're folding him double. It's too late to fight, though he really could -- if he wanted, and whether he wants to remains up in the air.

In his moment of indecision, his knees tilt back for the bed. That leaves his ass fully exposed, his thighs spread lewdly and his knees pressed to his chest. And that pair of underwear, too small to be anything he would wear in public, pulls tight. Without the serum, he certainly wouldn't have the necessary flexibility to sustain the position for long, and even now, he finds it taxing.

Some other kind of magnetic device activates to pull his legs into position, his ankles mounted far back.

And that's _before_ a bar shoots between them, lined up to connect one cuff with the other. His efforts to close his ankles become downright impossible with three feet of metal telescoping between them.

“Perfect,” Bucky says, moving down to lick at his nipples.

Steve finally makes a sound, a low, rolling groan.

“Just you wait. This is only a start.” Tony rubs his heavy balls and then starts to wrap something -- a ribbon, given the silken texture and supple length -- around the base. The underwear must be made of embroidery floss for how little it interrupts Tony, only pulling tight against Steve's hole. 

Again and again, Tony wraps the pouch at the base and ties off the loose ends. Probably in a bow, and not the sloppiest of bows at that.

Steve arches his back what little he can manage with his legs pinning him down, and discovers in a heartbeat what assumed helplessness feels like.

Bucky smiles into his pectoral muscle. “That's it.”

He swallow hard and strives to compile a reply with that hot mouth sucking his nipple hard and fast. Teeth worry into the base, clamping down tight. He likes that, a lot, given the way his cock twitches.

“You get four presents,” Tony says. Thick pleasure darkens his voice out of its usual tenor.

Bucky nips his tit flesh and releases him, blowing over the fat nub until it contracts to utter stiffness. Then he flicks it, and Steve breaks a little.

“Buck--”

“Pick a gift, Steve. You'll receive that first.” Bucky rubs his thumb softly around the abused nipple.

He has to pick blind, stretched open, and utterly exposed. Steve exhales for breath and drinks in another greedily. One to four… “One,” he replies.

Bucky kisses his brow and stops touching his peaked nub. The torture hurts more in its absence than enduring the caresses, and the prickling heat dances like torch fire in the wind. There's no way to escape the dull burn under his skin.

Laughing softly, Tony's weight leaves the bed. Bucky is so much more substantial that Steve can easily track his still body.

He hears a snap of plastic, and then the cool application of something wet to his hole. He jerks away -- or tries to, but the magnets do their work.

“No,” he says, shaking his head.

“Shh. He has my permission,” Bucky says. “I'll be here watching it all. Is that okay?”

Steve whimpers in frustration and need, guided along the ragged edge of ruin. He clenches up his hole instinctively against the light dabs of slick lube added. Tony stops, patient. Respectful.

Bucky caresses Steve's face, all soft touches upon hard lines worthy of a master sculptor's chisel. “Do you need to use your words?”

His out. The instant guarantee to be free.

Steve shakes his head. “Plums.” His signal to continue earns a soft chuckle. Relaxing is hard, especially with Tony working a finger into his anus, stretching out his pink hole with ample amounts of lube. He shudders and awaits the future, unable to steal so much as a kiss. His cuffed wrists rest limp on his chest.

He isn't much prepared for something hard and firm stuffed inside him, a thin plug of some kind. It feels oddly straight where most of his and Buck's toys hold sinuous lines and organic curves. He tests what little he can, clenching around it, the low burn of penetration climbing his body.

Tony taps his balls lightly, and then the toy explodes into humming motion deep inside him. He jolts at that, but stays silent.

“Oh, he's going to _like_ this,” the inventor crows. The pillar vibrator rolls back and forth in his hole, twisted, and appendages bloom out of the metal shaft. His cock starts to twitch in earnest as the damn toy _flows_ inside him, those bumps distorting the straight line to something that curves.

“What?” he pants, his tongue licking his lips hastily.

Bucky tugs on the tip, pulling his tongue out further. The pressure forces the tip down, and he blindly tips his chin down. If he could see, he would be staring at the tip of his own cock pointed back at him, the slit winking.

“You look so hot when your face is blissful and you're getting fucked,” Bucky whispers in his ear. “And you _are_ going to get fucked, Steve.”

“Unngh,” Steve replies because his tongue doesn't allow much more.

“Fireworks time,” Tony says from between his legs. And he twists something snug against Steve's stuffed hole. The base of the toy really isn't that wide, fitting easily inside, being less than a man's finger width.

But the rest of the toy soon isn't, _roiling_ in his ass, rotating around and searching. He imagines that those rabbit vibrators work something like this, rotating beads and flicking ears, but he really never plays with them.

A pale comparison as the toy sends a silicone bump across the little buried nodule in his ass. He gasps in surprise.

“Bullseye,” Bucky says. “I think we'll leave you to enjoy this for a bit.”  
  
A bit? The unpredictable oscillations shiver and tremble against his inner walls. Steve tries to clamp down and almost chokes right then and there at the buzzing pulse that responds to him as though it has a mind of its own. Maybe it does. “What… what is it?”

“Psychoreactive plug. My own design,” Tony says. “Delightful, isn't it? Your hole is bulging around the base, you're so tight. You won't be for long, though. It'll wreck your ass like nothing. Responds to your body's reactions using a lot of fancy technology. Ooh, you felt that.”

Fuck, yes he did. "Wreck my..."

"Pink and blown. Ready for my cock," Bucky reassures him.

Steve groans. As he tries to relax, the dildo-plug revs up and sends a jolt right into his prostate, leaving him groaning. How did they start so fast, so high?

“Don't worry about the shape changing. The nanites I have in my suit have other purposes, too. Like getting you ready.”  
  
He doesn't ask ready for what. A little hard for Steve to form a word when that smooth vibrator becomes a chain of bubbles plundering his ass, rolling across it.

Bucky starts stroking his nipples. “Happy birthday to you, Steve.”


	3. Bucky's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets Steve ready for his next gift. But first, birthday candles for the birthday boy, and something better than a singing card. A humming plug, anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for the rapid posting of this. Between work and a cold, yuck. But we're back on track for this belated birthday special.

The last time Steve really trusted a Stark, he ended up with a vibranium shield and a one-way ticket on the Valkyrie into the icefields of the Arctic. Win some, lose some. The son has all the brilliance of the father and surpasses him in many places. Howard Stark never invested his attentions into adult toys, though if he had, he certainly never achieved the pinnacle that Tony has.

His ass feels incredible. The puffy rim of his hole pulses at the very thought of the toy embedded deep inside him.

Hands clench and open in futility. Powerful magnets and hell, maybe magic, keep him from spreading his wrists open and reaching for his thick cock.

Every little thrust and turn in the darkest taboo spaces has him fighting for breath and composure. He knows Bucky watches his cock as more slickness drips from the tip.

That leaves him in turmoil. He can feel the phantom caresses, but not be sure they're real. Is that Buck's hair slithering across his inner thigh or a loose strand left behind? Maybe there's hot breathing against his tight balls -- they tighten in response, and a chuckle across the room tells him it's not true.

Steve is fairly sure he might be losing his mind.

That  _ definitely  _ is something hot striking his nipple, liquid sunlight congealed into a splash that spreads out as wide as the bed. His bitten, pert lips go white against his teeth, thinned out to avoid crying to anyone's name. Strained, he arches.

The bindings around his ankles tighten and pull his feet to the headboard. The back of his legs flex and strain, a fresh burn to distract him from the low-grade simmer around his hole.

Right now, he'd give almost anything to open his mouth and suck Bucky's cock, feeling the rhythmic flex of the bed creaking and the headboard slamming into the wall. The very thought leaves his mouth watering.

Steve clenches again on the shifting, serpentine plug and it delivers an unpredictable array of responses whenever he does. A shock once, a pitched buzz that left his skull full of white noise, a low, bucking dance over his prostate. He’s lost track of the myriad pleasures inflicted on him. This time the shifting nanotechnology roils and soars in the depths of him to something that nestles deep -- bulbs that line up together, a series of beads whipsawed back and forth.

His mouth opens in an oval rictus of pleasure, and he cannot do anything but gasp for air to keep from drowning. The scent of sex and arousal hang in the morning air along with traces of metal oil and hot spices, invisible hands that soothe some smarting corner of his mind. Cunning of Sergeant Barnes, not Mr. Stark, to prevent him from seeing anything and from reaching out to pull the toy from his clutching hole.

Or from slamming it deep and getting off like that. His patience is at a historically low ebb.

Deprived of sight by the blindfold and locked into place by those damn manacles meant for a man of his strength, he must simply endure. Games of fortitude he excels at.

But HYDRA never teased him with sex and lust. They never sent a feathery prickle across nerves he barely knew he had, except when Bucky introduced him to newfound pleasures. Like he is now, in a roundabout way.

He gulps for breath. A sound tries to escape his throat and he refuses to speak it. Another bolt of hot wetness crashes down onto his chest. It licks over his stiff nipple, a tsunami wrapping around the shaft and rolling further.

Steve groans long and low. He strains around the sound of his own voice to hear if anyone reacts. 

Not so much as a creak or slap of flesh on flesh. For all he knows, he's alone. That should give him permission to make as much noise as he wants, but he never has been vocal. Too thin walls in his Brooklyn tenement taught him to stay quiet. He couldn't risk crying out Bucky's name back in the day. 

He cannot so much as shift his hips as the toy suddenly kicks up by a magnitude. It feels like being slammed by an industrial air compressor, the pounding toy sending feedback roaring through his body. Taut as a drum, he shakes and vibrates. 

Another sizzling drop spreads against the back of his leg, the heat barely cooled by the beads of sweat running down his bundled thigh muscle. Steve twitches, trying to twist to the side. The magnets won't give.

His body screams out for all he refuses to make a sound, unable. Just as soon as he starts seeing stars around the edges of his blindfolded vision, the plug stops.

The creaming in his bound balls churns on much longer than that. Thin ribbon keeps him from making a mess all over his belly. Much to Steve's woe, really. Nothing would bring out his lover like fresh cream, and Bucky lapping it up with long, flat feline strokes of his tongue.

No one has their hand on him directly and that’s killing him by inches. His cock is stiff to the point of aching, strained above the pretty bow tied around his heavy balls. It waves every time he twitches, though the spreader bar and position of his feet behind his head -- above them, anchored close to the headboard -- allows Steve to do very little more than wiggle. Sweat runs down his temples and stings his fluttering eyes under the blindfold secured on his head.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

“Naughty mouth,” Bucky fires back from across the room, so very different. “He'll speak filthy if you let him.”

Steve's body trembles and he stills in his bondage. The padding chafes at his wrists.

He has to guess Bucky and Tony occupy the penthouse suite where he lies. Other than the occasional pinch to his nipples leaving them dark and hard, he suffers through the buzzing plug alone and untouched.

“Hell of a present,” he says, and in his mind, the statement comes out perfectly reasonably instead of a touch brusque and breathless.

As if the plug reads his mind -- and some kind of technological wizardry means it just might -- the fat balls merge together in a sleek knob more akin to the anal plugs he and Bucky use. The comforting weight soon exceeds whatever their collection holds as the dimensions plump and jackhammer at his hole from behind.

Steve’s jaw drops open. His head lurches back into the soft pillow. The persistent buzz assailing the pink quivering rim counterpoints the steady knocking thump against the besieged sphincter muscles holding the toy in place, and he swears it rocks back and forth like a pendulum and spins like a dreidel at the same time. Then he isn’t feeling much at all in a mad rush of biostatic feedback. Between the plug battering his slack pink hole and something sticky peeled off his nipples, Steve is a column of erotic fire.

He swears again, shouting to the ramparts. “Oh fucking hell, fuck my ass.”

Wetness dapples his chest as his cock leaks, but the bulbous end of the toy falls short of that sacred nodule already sensitized to crave attention, allowing him a few precious moments of gasping and panting.

Then he feels tongues.

Not one,  _ two _ . They settle on his nipples as the weights on the bed shift, something he missed in that blur of sensations, and the lopsided weight tells him where Bucky is on his left, Tony on the right. Presumably Tony? Someone fairly light. His hands try to rise but his clamped wrists caught in the heavy cuffs only impede their efforts and Bucky shoves his hands lower.

Nipple play of any kind leaves him curiously ambiguous. Steve only has two settings -- dull interest and acute oversensitivity of the kind that he experiences now under the influence of hot mouths nibbling his nubs. One tongue treats him like an ice cream cone, swirling in broad strokes. He can’t resist that, though the bites nipping into the tight, pebbled flesh peaks his nipple to maximum height. Bucky knows him too well, using the silky feel of his inner lip to soothe out the sting.

Sucking does him in after being tenderized to that thick boundary between limited sensation and too much, the erogenous zones electrified. His tongue hangs slack and his lips press flat to his parted grimace, a sign of his efforts to stay quiet. An old game between him and Bucky, he makes no sound and Buck tries to make him sing those chords of absolute need.

The mingled pleasure turns sharp with pinches to accompany the questing tongue wrapping around his peaked nipple on the side opposite Bucky, and he struggles in his bonds when the pinch matches the pummeling on his hole going utterly still. For a moment the quivering muscles resonate in a high-pitched hum equal to the silent plug and the purr rolling through his chest muscles, thanks to that madcap inventor so pleased with himself.

“You ready for your second present?” Bucky asks, muffled against the wall of hard muscle. He treks to Steve’s collarbone while waiting for a response, as if the blond can respond with anything other than short pulls of air.

They're still on the  _ first? _

Given how the first practically kills him, Steve doesn’t know whether to nod his head or cry for mercy and bring the whole game crashing down to a sudden end.

The blindfold clings to his damp skin as he nods, uncertain his neck muscles can even hold him up.

The delayed response is met with a firm tweak to his nipple, stretching it tight and long. He squirms underneath the firm impression of fingers, and practically claws at the air. The faint scent of ash wafts by and then a split second later, the shock registers through his system.

It hurts, that molten spark of fire dappling over the hard shaft of his nipple. Steve sucks down a breath in shock. The heat gathers into a tight pinprick and sinks into his skin, followed by another splash.

A few sizzling drops dance over his skin and leave pink tracks he cannot see thanks to that blindfold. But the first pass circles around his nipple exclusively, coating it in a growing peak of wax. The hardening crust tightens around the stinging nub.

His balls are at a boil as the pain slips away, leaving a hazy red pleasure in its wake. Steve cannot quite decipher if the hurt feeds the pleasure or if the pleasure dulls the hurt. His belly becomes a target for braided lines splashing down without rhyme or reason. The cuffs simply don't allow him to move as lips caress his skin and fire transforms him into a vibrating chord of ecstatic torment.

“My cock,” he whispers, and repeats himself as the drumbeat of his heart crashes in his ears.

His voice grows louder and a hand smacked over his lips brings the taste of salt and faint ash. It's not the metal he expected, nor anywhere near as rough and muffling as Tony's grip. 

Which means he doesn't know who muffles him. Steve moans when the sticky line of contracting wax circles his navel and fills in the flexing dent. There can be only one way for the candle to progress if the stinging dollops mounding up on his perspiring flesh do not cease. His head strains as he lifts it, as though he could see. Lipping at the smaller hand pressed firmly to his mouth, he jerks helplessly.

And he loves that, in a way.

Bucky's weight presses into the side of the bed and a few drops land in lazy procession on his balls. The sting sends him jerking airborne, and making no more than a centimeter or two of difference. Steve's voice erupts in a keening loud even to his keenly aware senses.

Oh, they play him like an Argentinian violin, sawing the bow expertly across the taut wire nerves, leaving Steve bare and naked spiritually and mentally. The wax cools to a ruffling breath blown over his balls, but they feel scalded and heavy, radiating their own heat.

The inert plug buzzes softly to life again and he can't stop shaking. Whatever they have planned is beyond the scope of Steve's imagination. A fingertip explores the softened muscles gripping the plug, pushing against the base, and his eyes go wide and blind behind the sash tied around his head.

The finger pushes in, flanking the toy, stretching out his rebellious hole that much more. Abruptly he smells smoke and hears something collide with the ground. The candle must be out. Before he can surmise on much more, another finger -- cold and wet -- slides in alongside the warmer one and they sweep away in opposite directions. Their path leaves the plug between them, stuffing him.

Steve's tongue presses to the hand gagging him and he makes incoherent sounds as small tugs besiege his ass, stretching him more. A stretch in the very best of ways. He thrusts his hips, doing no more than stiffening his muscles, trying to expel the toy and encourage the deeper invasion. The slow ache becomes a familiar burn again as they test his soft, rosy pucker to the limit.

“Oh, that's going to be perfect.” Bucky sends another trickle of wax dancing over Steve's abdomen. The blond cries out in rough pleasure. “Greedy birthday boy.”

A soft laugh echoes over him. Feminine. Quiet shock races through Steve and he moans. “Oh please. Please.”

“Shall I let him have his present?” asks the girl, and he knows her Slavic accent well enough to have no surprises except all the surprise.

Wanda. He goes very still indeed. It has been some time since he and Bucky brought a woman into their bed, and even longer since Steve exclusively favoured the ladies. Not since he learned his best friend survived the War.

But it's hard to not feel a sense of surging arousal for a woman in a corset, and one so utterly arousing when she purrs a question while dipping her finger against the center of his lips. He obliges her and kisses the tip, uncertain.

Does he want this? One word would halt it all. Perhaps, like Tony, it will be mostly hands off. But unlike Tony… there is something entirely different to the feel of a warm, feminine body pressed tightly to his. To the weight of breasts in his hands and the sopping wet sheath around his cock. 

That alone is enough to incite a brilliantly hard response. Bucky laughs. “Oh, you've got him.”

“Still plum?” she asks.

His word. She must know from Bucky. Steve's heart warms and melts into another burst of love. For all his uncertainties, he knows damn well Bucky protects him like a sphinx. He watches over every element his perverted mind orchestrated, and that would stop it all. Well, as much as the Winter Soldier might stop a reality warping witch. 

They're waiting on him. He hoarsely mumbles, “Please,” behind her hand. The fingers fall away to make it clearer to hear him.

Steve says, “I'm good. Yeah.”   
  
Her fingers pinch his waxy nipples and he clamps down on the toy, immediately thrown into a rictus of pleasure. His mouth opens again, the corresponding hum between his cheeks building up as the toy rubs over his prostate.

“That feel good, Steve?” Bucky thrusts the plug around, his finger still tugging on the puffy rim to widen it. He must be staring right between Steve's legs, given how accurate his movements are. “We'll give you a very good birthday.”

“The best of presents.” Wanda covers his mouth with her hand again as Steve starts to involuntarily gasp. The nodule sings with the tight harmonics of Tony's toy, and it feels like it's bulging and rolling around at the same time.

Bucky laughs. “Do you think he's been good enough?”

Steve shudders and suckles at Wanda's finger. He still isn't sure about what might happen, but her hand covers his mouth -- that he is sure of. She won't hurt him. Two tugs pull his hole wide and the toy hums harder, picking up on his uneasy anticipation.

Wanda presses her digit gently against his lips and he runs his tongue around it, tasting the wisps of something much sweeter. Whipped cream if he were to guess, but guessing is rather hard with Bucky splattering him in a coating of wax and finger-fucking his ass.

“He's the very best,” she says softly, a bit hesitant, and her voice thick with need. "He's ready."

A kiss lands on the outside of Steve's leg, and Bucky murmurs, “That he is. Then you get your next present, Steve.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, I love feedback and comments. <3 Let me know what you thought.


End file.
